


A Hope Upon A Wave

by thegrimshapeofyoursmile



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sarah being a good mom, Steve in a dress, genderqueer Steve, implied (mentions of) Steve/Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:56:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimshapeofyoursmile/pseuds/thegrimshapeofyoursmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a young boy, Steve once picked up a dress his mother had sloughed off for she has long outgrown it and he took it with great glee and breathless anticipation out of the closet. He put it on in front of the mirror when no one was home, smoothing it over himself, smiling shyly at himself, thinking about being asked to dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hope Upon A Wave

**Author's Note:**

> So, this came into my mind after a very interesting discussion with my beloved and I just had to write it. I am not completely satisfied with it, but then again, I cannot put my finger on what irks me, so whatever.  
> Title taken from Sia's "Lullaby".  
> Enjoy!

As a young boy, Steve once picked up a dress his mother had sloughed off for she has long outgrown it and he took it with great glee and breathless anticipation out of the closet. He put it on in front of the mirror when no one was home, smoothing it over himself, smiling shyly at himself, thinking about being asked to dance.

It was just dreams, that was all, fantasies of possibilities to dance with Bucky, and he liked the dress, liked its color and the way it felt underneath his fingertips. It was like a painting coming to life under his touch, a painting he was never supposed to see, but he looked at it nevertheless and in a way, it set him free. Wearing the dress, he felt almost safe. Wearing the dress, he felt almost attractive. Maybe, perhaps, one day…. But it was just a dream. Still, he smoothed over the soft fabric of the dress and allowed himself the dream of going out with Bucky, holding his hand in public. 

He was just thirteen, after all, and even though he already knew that the world had teeth, he still clung to the belief that it was possible to make certain things happen. 

Sarah, however, had no such illusions, not anymore, and because she knew how dangerous it was to be a boy like Steve in the world they lived in, her heart stopped for a second when she came home earlier one day, tired and worn from her work, and found him in front of the mirror. When he saw her, Steve jumped back, scarlet coloring his cheeks so quickly that she could not help but worry about an asthma attack, and he backed away, eyes downcast. It hurt her because Steve instinctively knew that what he had done was wrong in the eyes of society and she never wanted to see him hurt. He was so special, her boy, so smart and sweet, and she loved him so much that she did not even think about doing anything else than sitting down in front of the mirror in her bedroom and taking his hand. 

Steve was startled, fear in his eyes like all the times his father, God bless him in death, came home drunk and ran after her, not accepting a no from a woman, even if from a woman he had loved enough once to break the rules of society, and certainly not accepting her yelling at him. Still, he followed her lead like he always did and that deep trust made her heart clench. The time they lived in was an ugly one, especially for a boy like Steve. The world they lived in did not like special people much; they were hard to control and she could see that in Steve as well, in the way he was fearful, but silent, not trying to defend himself because he did not believe that what he had done was wrong.

“You know there comes a hat with that, don’t you?” She told him and watched the expression in his face change from cautious to downright confused.

“Mom,” He said softly, a little worried now, and watched with wide eyes when she rummaged in her few pieces of jewelry until she found the necklace she had looked for, a delicate golden chain with a single pearl, a piece that had been in her family for decades. Now she put it around the neck of her son and smiled up at him when he stared at her with wide eyes.

“You are very beautiful,” She told him because the world did not like people like her son that much and he should at least have the utter love and adoration of his mother to cling onto in the stormy waves of life. “Very, very beautiful.”

When tears welled up in his blue eyes, she tutted and took a handkerchief to keep them from spilling, moving over on the small bench she sat on so he could settle down beside her. Steve did not cry easily; he was too fierce for that, too much of a fighter. Sometimes she wished he would not had to have to become a fighter, but some things were not fair. 

“You don’t have to keep this from me,” She told him softly and took a brush to comb his fine, golden hair into a nice form, watching the way her son’s beautiful hands fluttered in his lap like nervous, caged birds, stilling when he heard her words as if being freed. 

“What is wrong with me?” He asked and broke her heart because there was nothing, absolutely nothing wrong with him and she loathed everyone who told him there was. 

“Nothing,” She said even more softly and petted his cheek. “Nothing, baby, you are completely fine. There is nothing wrong with liking a pretty dress every now and then.”

“But I am not a woman,” Steve said and lowered his head; his fingers were resting against the dress now, completely unmoving. “I don’t feel like a woman, either.”

“And you don’t have to just to like a nice dress,” Sarah smiled and took one of his hands. She hated the way things were, the way they made her feel helpless, the way they forced her to tell him to keep this low because she did not want to see him hurt, or worse, dead. “If you want to put on this dress sometimes, you can do it, sweetheart, it is yours. But it has to be our little secret, okay?”

“Okay, mom,” Steve said softly and rested his cheek against her shoulder. She could feel his breath on her skin and smiled when she stroke his hair. Her boy was a gift from God, a treasure, and in the kiss she planted on his forehead was all her love and worry for him embedded.

“God loves you, sweetheart,” She told him and pulled him closer. “And so do I.”

For now, it had to be enough.


End file.
